Bye Baby Buntin'
by Phx
Summary: His Dad and brother’s hunt? It wasn’t a half a day away. It was here, kicking his ass... Teenchesters. Set a week before Christmas.
1. Chapter 1

_Merry Christmas, TraSan, this is my present to you!_ And thank you Red for being an awesome beta!

A/N - don't own'em but I sure love to play with them.

_And, as an aside, I don't think that the boys had crappy Christmases. I think they had good ones and not so good ones, just like all of us, but I do think John was usually there. I just wanted to clear that up so you won't think that is going to be a Winchester Crappy Christmas story. Nope, not for my boys this year. However, they've got to make it to Christmas first!!_

**Bye Baby Buntin'**

**Chapter 1**

Sixteen-year-old Sam Winchester sighed heavily as he lay on his stomach on top of the covers of a double bed and idly flipped through the pages of the Teen Beat magazine, obviously left behind by the last people who'd stayed in this cheap pay-by-the-hour motel. But after three days alone he'd become desperate for distraction and opened the glossy pages of the magazine Dean had been ribbing him about ever since they'd found it tucked away behind the toilet. Like anyone would want to admit they read this crap.

But Sam was desperate.

Outside thick snowflakes dizzied the darkness and made the teen feel even more isolated. This really was not how he'd been expecting to spend the week before Christmas. Mid-term exams, suddenly and astonishingly a priority for his father, kept Sam behind in town while his older brother, soon to be twenty-one, went along as backup on a supposedly simple hunt.

_"Two days, kiddo," John had assured his younger son. "We'll be back in two days…" _

That was _four_ days ago now, but a rushed phone call late last night had assured Sam that while things were going okay, the 'sonnovabitch' (Dean's words, not John's) was being evasive and it'd be another day or so before the older men would be home.

_Well, yippee_, _more time alone,_ Sam thought sarcastically as he gave up looking at the pages of smiling, perfect teenagers and rolled on his back staring up at the grey stucco ceiling above him. He figured the last time it had been white, he'd still been in diapers. A dark stain above the bed made the young hunter screw up his face in a loud 'ewww' before he rolled out from under it and moved over to the other double in the room. He didn't even want to take a guess at what the spot was.

Sitting on the edge of his father's bed, Sam's leg bounced restlessly as he thought about what he could do. At 9 PM it was still too early to go to bed, and there was nothing on TV, literally, since the cable had been out for two days now. The young hunter suspected it was a money issue interrupting the service as only one other person had stayed in the motel in the last four days, and that person had checked out yesterday.

He couldn't read as he'd already read his way through every book in the room, hence the _Teen Beat_ descent into madness, and that included Dean's hidden copy of _Busty Babes. _Sam grinned, he couldn't wait to see the look on his brother's face when Dean saw that he had drawn clothes on all the female models…

So that had been his morning, but now?

Well now just plain sucked.

As was the story of Sam's life, the Winchester's had only been in town a couple of weeks now, not even long enough for their father to rent a place, so he didn't really know any of the other kids well enough to give them a call. And his father's strict, _straight to school, Sam, then straight home policy_, left no negotiating room for socialization, leaving him feeling a bit more smothered than usual. Things hadn't been quite so stringent when Dean was still in school but now that it was just Sam, his family seemed even more determined something was going to happen to him if he was outside the 'Winchester dome of protection' too long. That is what Sam privately called staying within yelling distance of his father or Dean at all given times. The attitude contrasted so sharply with them then being okay with leaving him completely alone while they went off on a hunt a half a day away. It made the teen snort. Sure Bobby Singer was only two hours away but still a lot could happen in two hours.

He supposed he could take a bath. That was always good for killing time. And maybe by the time he was done, it'd be late enough to turn in without feeling _wrong_ about it.

"Oh what a joy this Christmas vacation is turning out to be." The youth muttered as he turned up the heat in the room, grabbed a pair of sweat pants to sleep in and then made his way to the bathroom. "I'll be decking the halls with something, if this keeps up, and it won't be any bells or holly!"

Sam was just leaning over to turn the water on in the tub when someone pounded on the motel room door, startling him. Jerking around, his hand reached for the sharp knife his father kept in the bathroom, his heart already racing. People didn't just knock on motel room doors at this hour of the night, in fact they rarely knocked at all.

Stealthily, the young hunter crossed the room, then pressed up close to the door, listening. He heard nothing. Swallowing hard, he silently counted in his head for two minutes then quietly turned the lock and opened the door. He blinked in shock, "Dean?"

"Hey, Sammy," his brother grinned at him, "miss me?" His gaze flickered down to the knife in Sam's hand. "Or not." Without waiting for his brother to move, Dean pushed in past him.

Sam looked out into the snowy parking lot, expecting to see his father locking up the truck. Them getting back early was a pleasant surprise, the hunt must have gone more smoothly than the older men had been anticipating after all. A snow covered Impala was the only vehicle outside though. Confused, he turned back to his brother. "Where's Dad?" Even if John had dropped Dean off to go grab something, Sam should have seen the monster black truck pulling away or heard the throbbing of its engine. A truck like that was a hard thing to miss. Although now that he thought about it, it was odd he didn't hear them pull up… but then again, he had been in the bathroom.

"Not here," Dean's voice was muffled as he pulled a heavy sweater off over his head and then shook the snow out of his hair. The room was warm enough for t-shirts. "Bobby showed up so they sent me home to baby-sit you. Dad was under some strange impression that you'd sell the Impala and run away to join the circus or something if we left you alone for any longer." He paused and cast a worried look his way, "You wouldn't, would you?"

Sam let the room door shut behind as he rolled his eyes and dropped the knife on the table near the door. "Sell the Impala or run away with the circus?" Although with the way that the teen felt about clowns, the latter was definitely out of the question. "Wait a second… Bobby showed up?" That didn't make sense, their father had been adamant about the other man not wanting a piece of this one. "Why?"

"I dunno," Dean shrugged then wiped a hand across his forehead. "Why's it so damn hot in here?"

"I was going to take a bath," Sam admitted, bothered that Bobby, _his_ backup, hadn't called to at least let Sam know about the change of plans. That wasn't like the older man. At least not the one Sam had known since, well… since as far back as he could remember. A niggling of unease tickled his thoughts. "Hey, Dean," his brow furrowed as he chewed his lip in consideration, "you guys were after a shifter right?" Normally Sam was pretty well versed in whatever hunt his family was engrossed in, but this time his father had kept the teen out of it beyond very cursory details, such as '_it's a shifter, Sammy, don't you have an exam to study for?_'.

"Yeah…" Dean drew the word out, his actions stilled as he gave Sam his complete attention. "What about it?"

"Well…" Sam turned worried eyes on him, "how do we know it was _Bobby_ who showed up? Maybe it's the shifter pretending to be Bobby."

"Don't be so stupid," Dean brushed him off sitting down heavily on the bed they were sharing and picking up the magazine. His eyebrows rose as he looked at the cover but he didn't comment. "Of course it's Bobby."

Sam shook his head, urgency coloring his voice. "I don't think so. Bobby wouldn't just show up like that. He doesn't do that!" The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became. "He knew you and Dad were going to be gone and that I'd call him if there was any trouble so he wouldn't just take off like that. Not without letting me know! We gotta call Dad!"

"And what?" Dean snorted, "Tell him Bobby forgot to check in with you? Hate to tell you, Sammy, but you ain't his wife. Go take your bath. Bobby a shifter…" he chuckled, "that's a good one."

Not about to be deterred, Sam reached for the phone, surprised when Dean blocked him, his sibling's more muscular frame moving quickly from the bed. At sixteen, Sam had almost caught up in height but his older brother had a good deal of solid muscle mass on him. He didn't often use it for intimidation though, not on Sam anyway, so when Dean's eyes darkened and his voice growled, "Take. Your. Bath." Sam felt a something slither along his spine and knew. This wasn't Dean.

As if his 'brother' caught that thought, the older man suddenly grabbed his arm, twisted Sam around and wrapped a strong forearm around the boy's neck. Sam struggled hard, his panic surging as he butted his head back and kicked with long legs. The imposter grunted, cursed and squeezed harder, completely cutting off his air supply, and the teen knew he was in serious trouble.

His Dad and brother's hunt? It wasn't a half a day away. It was here, kicking his ass.

Sam sank to his knees, his hands pulling futilely at the restraint around his neck as he desperately tried to get loose, but nothing he'd been taught was working. The shifter went down with him, pressing him forward towards the floor with his greater weight.

"You know, Sammy," the thing hissed in his ear, its breath hot against his skin, "you should have just taken your bath… Mind you," it purred as the teen's lungs labored for air and blackness edged his vision, "this is going to be so much more fun…"

The last thing he felt before he passed out was the ghost of cold fingers sliding underneath his shirt.

_No_, his mind whispered. Then shut up.

------

When Sam regained consciousness an indefinable time later, he was gagged and tied, shirtless and in his boxers to a chair placed in the middle of the room, Dean's face mere inches from his own as his brother crouched in front of him. It took him a moment to remember and when he did, his eyes widened in fear. This was not Dean.

The creature leered at him, as it drew back a bit and stroked fingers in an unwanted touch across the young hunter's cheekbone. _"Bye baby bunting_," its voice was hauntingly melodic, making Sam's skin crawl as his body pulsed with fear, _"Daddy's gone a hunting, to catch a baby rabbit skin to wrap his baby bunting in…_" The look on its face turned predatory. "Too bad the skin is the one doing all the catching." A knife – the one John had left behind – was suddenly in the monster's hands and caressed its way down the teen's quivering stomach. "Time to make Sammy scream…"

------

Bobby Singer cursed the blackness of the night as he drove. He should have been home by now but a flat tire and testy distributor cap put him behind a couple of hours forcing him to drive the slick, snow covered roads in the dark. Not that the grizzled hunter minded really, but it had been a long day and he just wanted to hit the bed and call it a night, maybe even check on Winchester's kid to make sure Sam hadn't gone completely stir crazy yet. He hadn't spoken to the teen in two days and, though he'd never admit it out loud, was a bit worried. Nothing he could place his finger on, just something niggling at the back of his mind.

In hindsight he should have just gone up and picked the boy up after Sam's last exam and once John's hunt stretched past the original day or two, a bit of company would have been nice. Bobby didn't mind either of John's boys hanging around. Dean was always a great help with the cars and Sam's inquisitive mind and thoughtful questions kept him mentally on his toes. So when a shadow suddenly lurched onto the road right in front of him and he was forced to slam on his brakes as he laid on the horn and swung hard to the shoulder of the road to keep from the running it down, he was pretty pissed.

"You stupid idiot!" he was already yelling before the truck even stopped, figuring it to be a drunk; wouldn't be the first time it'd happened. "Get off the road!" Shoving open the door, Bobby stalked towards the figure swaying on their hands and knees their body lit up by the blinding light of the headlights, and froze.

"_Sam?" _

Instinctive reaction had Bobby moving even as he shook his head in disbelief. It couldn't be. But as he crouched down next to the teen, took in the bound hands, gagged and badly beaten body, he knew it was Sam Winchester.

"Holy shit," he whispered, half afraid to touch the kid. He quickly looked to make sure that whatever had done this wasn't still around, "what the hell happened to you, boy?"

At the sound of Bobby's voice, Sam turned his head towards him and the older man winced in sympathy – the kid's face was a bloodied mess, so badly swollen it would be amazing if Sam was seeing right – and watched him stiffen in fear.

"Hey, Sam," Bobby tried for gentle, thinking that maybe the teen couldn't see it was him, "It's Bobby." But instead of helping, the kid gave a muffled cry and tried to lurch away, his knees slipping out from under him on the icy road. The man instantly reached out to steady him, pulling away when Sam whimpered and shook his head, the words 'no, no' unmistakable beneath the gag.

Unsettled, the hunter scrubbed a hand over his mouth. The boy needed help and there was no way he was going to leave him here. Bobby wouldn't do that to a stranger much less a youngster he thought of as kin. A hard shiver from the boy had the older man shrugging out of his heavy coat and wrapping it around him as he gently pulled Sam up and slipped an arm under his legs. Time to go. The teen struggled but it was weak at best and Bobby easily subdued the flailing arms and held Sam tighter. "Easy, boy," he consoled, his voice husky and low, "Bobby's got ya."

Straightening with a grunt – the kid wasn't light and his long limbs made this awkward at best – the man worked to get him into the truck and settled on the bench seat, quickly flipping the heat switch up to 'high'. Sam's head lolled against the seat when Bobby worked the gag out of his mouth cursing under his breath at how tight the rag had been tied. It left a deep grove on either side of the teen's mouth and must have been incredibly uncomfortable.

"There you go," Bobby muttered, as he tossed the gag on the floor of the truck and then deftly cut through the bindings on Sam's wrists. The boy's eyes, mere slits between swollen and bruised lids, watched the older man dully, all the fight gone out of them and Bobby doubted Sam was aware of very much at all. He did use the tip of his tongue to try and moisten his lips once the gag was gone which had the older man reaching under the seat for a bottle of unopened water. Uncapping it, he held it to Sam's lips and let him wet them, pulling back when the kid fumbled for it and tried to gulp it down. "Whoa, easy, Sam. You'll be sick."

Too exhausted to protest, Sam sagged against the seat, closed his eyes and passed out. Bobby hoped it was because on some level the kid knew he was safe but he did a more thorough triage, just in case, anyway, his face darkening as he saw the damage. Lucky enough nothing seemed broken but the kid's body was a mess of blood and bruises and he'd be sore for a while. Even more disturbing were the numerous cuts on Sam's torso some trailing lower than the waist band on his jeans. Obviously made by something sharp, a knife Bobby guessed, the cuts, while not life threatening were meant to hurt, and anger burned fierce in his chest. Sam hadn't just been beaten up, he'd been tortured. Bobby felt sick.

Tucking the jacket more firmly around the shaking body, Bobby belted Sam in, then hurried around the front of the truck to his own seat. He'd get the kid back to his place and in a warm bed before he tried calling John Winchester, maybe by then Sam would be more lucid and the older man would have something to tell his old friend. Either way he knew the boy's family was going to be pissed. Sam had been hurt, there was going to be hell to pay.

------

When Sam opened his eyes he panicked, someone was looming over him and his corrupted vision couldn't make out the face. Scrambling backwards, his back hit the headboard before he realized who it wasn't.

"Sam, hey, kid. Hey, take it easy. You're okay-"

It wasn't pretend Dean.

"You're safe now."

"B-Bobby?" He hated the way his voice stammered as he struggled to see better, the pain in his body suddenly overrode the adrenaline rush and he slowly sagged back down on the bed with a miserable groan.

"On a good day," the older man's voice rumbled and Sam felt himself relax even more. It _was_ Bobby. Something was held in front of him and it took the teen a moment to see it was a mug. His gaze flickered doubtfully upwards and he heard a soft sigh. "It's only tea, Sam, something to warm you up." The drink was pressed into one of his hands and Sam wrapped the other one around it as well before carefully guiding it up to his parched mouth. He took a sip and actually groaned at the welcome sweetness of the warm drink. It was milky and flavored with honey, exactly the way Sam loved it.

"Thank you," he whispered after slowly downing the mug and then letting Bobby take it from him. It _had_ helped warm him up even if it made him drowsy again; the hunter had probably laced it with painkillers if the slowly spreading numbness was any indication but Sam really couldn't bring himself to care. After the last two days, even the slightest show of compassion was craved.

_"Did you know a cat can live for hours without its skin, Sammy?" the not-Dean's hot breath ghosted against Sam's skin, "Hours…" _

Bile rushed up his throat as Sam scrambled to get out of the bed, "Sick," he managed when Bobby tried to stop him and then something was shoved under his face and the teen was throwing up, heaving horribly and painfully. Only the older man's quick grip kept Sam off the floor.

_"Here kitty, kitty, kitty…"_

When he finally came up for air, Bobby helped him to the bathroom and then rinsed out the waste paper basket as Sam leaned his head against the side of the cold porcelain toilet and tried to shut his mind off. It must have worked because he just about jumped out of his skin when Bobby asked him if he was ready to go back to bed yet.

"Uh… sure." He wasn't but didn't want to stay pressed up against Bobby's toilet any longer either. With surprising gentleness the older man helped him up and then kept a steadying grip on Sam until the teen was carefully lowered back onto the bed.

Sam had to give Bobby his due, he waited until Sam was settled back under the blankets and comfortable before he asked the question that must have been burning at the back of his mind since finding him.

"You want to tell me what happened? Last I heard from you, you were going to catch up on your reading… change your mind or something?"

He appreciated Bobby's attempt at levity and even managed to twist his swollen face into some semblance of a smile as his heart pounded so loudly in his chest he was sure the other man could hear. "Something," he managed back, his voice barely recognizable. He gave a one shoulder shrug, wincing as muted pain streaked across the muscle. Oh yeah, that was the arm that'd almost been yanked out of the socket. How'd he forget that? "It was a shifter."

"Crap." Bobby had such a way with words. Sam squinted to get a better look at the man's face as Bobby exhaled loudly and scrubbed a hand across his mouth. "Damnit," he added.

"It, ah," this was the part that hurt the most but Bobby needed to know. He needed to be prepared because Sam hadn't escaped, he'd been let go. "It looked like Dean." The man froze. Even Sam's impaired vision picked up on how his whole body just seemed to stiffen and waited for Bobby to say something.

_------_

_It was a shifter_. That wasn't good. _It looked like Dean._ Bobby re-appraised the situation, silently perusing his mental catalogue on the details of finding Sam and his injuries. He frowned. John was hunting a shifter, a particularly brutal son'bitch at that, and if Bobby's gut was right, Sam being attacked by one was no coincidence. But how'd the kid get away? How'd he end up beaten and semi-conscious hours away from where his family had left him? Not that Bobby doubted the teen's capabilities, after all he was a Winchester, and could hold his own but against a skin? A skin masquerading as Dean? That would have caught the boy off guard. "Sam," he started carefully. The kid tilted his head to the side, listening. "What are you doing _here_?"

"It let me go," Sam dragged the words out with apparent effort. His eyes closed and he slowly relaxed in the bed. "M'tired." The older man wasn't sure if it was just natural exhaustion or if the painkillers in the tea had somehow survived the purge and were affecting him. But either way, the kid needed rest and Bobby needed to make a phone call.

"Get some sleep," he encouraged, his voice gruff as he grabbed the spare blanket from the foot of the bed and spread it over the still trembling body. "You're safe."

Sam might have nodded, or not, but he was asleep, his breathes slightly stuttered by pain before Bobby had left the room. The man didn't intend to go far but it was time to call John and he didn't want Sam overhearing, the kid was freaked out enough as was. Using the phone in the kitchen, Bobby quickly dialed then waited for John to answer knowing the man would be expecting trouble as soon as he saw Bobby's number and he wasn't disappointed, the other man's "What's wrong?" a barked greeting.

"John." Oh man, Bobby did not want to be making this call knowing that he was about to dump a whole bunch more crap on the already burdened shoulders of his friend, but this was involving one of John's sons so there was no sparing him either, "we got a problem…"

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

_Again this is my Christmas gift to TraSan, a wonderful friend and writer. And this time, any mistakes are mine, not my wonderful beta's but if I didn't get this chapter out today, I wouldn't get it up until after Christmas. And thank you to everyone who has taken the time to comment - they are very inspiring! Merry Christmas and I hope you enjoy this chapter._

**Bye Baby Buntin'**

**Chapter 2**

John Winchester was tired and cranky. This hunt had turned into a cluster fuck, they were already a couple of days overdue and it didn't look like they'd be finishing this up tonight either. Contrary to popular belief, John hated leaving one of his son's behind knowing that the separation made them vulnerable but sometimes there were other more important considerations such as the negative impact or residual effect that a particular hunt might inflict on his boys and this was one of those hunts. They were after a shapeshifter and while it was one thing to kill a monster or salt and burn a corpse, it was quite another to kill something that could very well be wearing your own face. He had enough reservations about having Dean along on this one and his first born was the more battle worn.

Sitting at the small motel room table, John tried to ignore his older son as Dean paced in front of him, the young man's agitation over things just as strong.

"Dean, sit," he finally ordered when his nerves could take it no more. He understood his son's desire to get back to his brother but the hunt wasn't done and driving John nuts before then wasn't going to do either of them any good.

Dean stopped pacing but didn't sit. John let it go. Instead the twenty year old just stood in the middle of the room, his fingers flexing and relaxing as his arms dangled loosely by his sides. The young man was a picture of tension and actually jumped when John's phone rang.

Seeing _BS_ come up on the call display, John's heart leapt into his throat. Bobby wouldn't be calling unless there was trouble. "What's wrong?" he barked into the phone as Dean came to stand right in front of him, his son's hazel eyes burning hard with question.

He held Dean's gaze at Bobby's, "_John, we got a problem…_" but before he could even ask, his old friend continued. "_Your shifter went after Sam_." John felt light-headed as his mouth went dry,

"What?"

"_I got the kid_," Bobby was obviously trying to make him feel better, but it wasn't working as John stood and grabbed his duffle bag, one handedly stuffing his stuff back in the bag. Dean unquestioningly started to get his stuff as well. "_He's pretty messed up but I think he'll be okay._"

"And the shifter?"

Bobby hesitated and that was answer enough.

"We're on our way," John barked. His mind was stuck on '_Your shifter went after Sam'_. _No_, he shook his head in denial; Sam was supposed to be safe. That's why John had left him behind. A half a day away should have been far enough. _God-damnit. _"Bobby-"

His old friend cut him off, his gruff voice husky. "_Don't worry, John. Just get here." _

Hanging up, John ran a hand across his face, sighed heavily then looked at Dean. The younger was actually vibrating with anxiety. "We got to get back," he stated needlessly, "Sonnofabitch went after Sammy."

Dean paled, his eyes wide as they searched his father's face. "Is he – is he okay?"

_He's pretty messed up…_

John grabbed his boots and pulled them on. "He'll be fine, Dean. Let's go."

It wasn't really an answer but they were a half a days drive from Sam and John didn't want Dean any more agitated during the drive then the younger man already was but Dean pressed, "Dad-"

"Dean," John straightened up and shouldered his duffle. "He's with Bobby. He's safe. Now c'mon, you're wasting time."

"How'd he get away? Is the shifter dead?" Dean pressed as he followed his father out of the room.

John unlocked the truck doors and tossed his bag in behind the seat, his son did the same. "I dunno," he was forced to admit, "and no, it's still on the loose."

"Good," the coldness in Dean's voice made John stop and look at him, "'cause I wanna kill the bastard myself." And John knew exactly how his son felt because he felt it too. This creature had crossed a new line when it went after Sammy.

With a curt nod, John slid into the driver's seat, slammed the door, started the engine and tore out of the parking lot. They were almost 12 hours away, he intended to be at Bobby's in 8.

------

Sam couldn't sleep for very long, even drugged. The pills just made it harder for him to think clearly and he kept waking with a start, heart pounding and breathing heavily, images of the shifter grinning down at him.

"You okay?" Bobby's voice asked from somewhere in the room but Sam didn't try to see him, his vision blurry at best. All the cuts and nicks on his body itched furiously and he tried to scratch, gasping with pain as his shoulders protested the movement.

_The shifter's breath was hot on the back of his neck as the creature slowly began to twist Sam's arm behind his back. The teen bit back a cry as his arm was cruelly manipulated and then screamed into the gag as he felt it pop out of the socket. _

_"Whoops," it laughed, mirthlessly, "Did I do that?" Sam sobbed and struggled but not-Dean gave him a hard shake. "Stop it or else I won't put it back in place for you." And then before the kid had a chance to recover, the shifter popped the shoulder back in place -_

"Sam?" Bobby was leaning over him again.

Hot tears of humiliation burned Sam's cheeks and he turned his face away from the older man, he didn't want Bobby to see how upset he was. Here he was safe and yet the teen couldn't seem to shake off what happened.

"M'sorry," he mumbled and heard the hunter sigh.

"Nothing to be sorry for." He was told and wished it was true. "Sam…" Bobby had more to say, "It's okay if you're still scared, you know that right?" Sam almost smiled at the guff awkwardness in the man's voice but he knew the sentiment was genuine and didn't want Bobby to think he didn't appreciate it so he just nodded, even if it didn't really make him feel better. "Anyway," the man continued, "your Dad and Dean are on their way back."

Relief jumped Sam and he sagged against the bed.

"Yup, they'll be here in a couple of hours."

"They know?" He asked tiredly. He couldn't sleep for very long but he couldn't seem to stay awake either. Man, it so sucked being him right now.

"Yeah, here drink this," Bobby was holding out another mug of something and Sam carefully sat up and took it, sniffing it before he took a drink. Chicken soup. It was good. "Your Dad's pretty pissed. Doesn't like his hunt doing the hunting."

…_Too bad the skin is the one doing all the catching…_

Sam shivered. "Guess not." He finished the rest of his soup quietly then handed the mug back to Bobby. "Thanks."

"Get some sleep, Sam, your family'll be here soon."

Sam nodded and slid back down under the covers again. He didn't want to sleep, he was – gone before Bobby sat back down.

------

Bobby wasn't surprised to see John's truck growl towards the house 9 hours later. He figured the man would burn rubber to get here and he wasn't disappointed.

"How's Sam?" Dean was out of the truck and demanding even before his father had put it in park. John cursed something but Bobby hid a grin, he wouldn't have expected anything less from the younger man. When it came to Sam, Dean had a one track mind.

"Sleeping," Bobby hoped anyways but while the kid had no trouble falling asleep, staying that way was a bigger issue. But he usually got about a half hour between incidents and it'd only been ten minutes since the last time Sam had passed out. "Dean," he called out to the younger man as Dean hurried past him towards the house.

Dean stopped and turned around, impatience tensing his body, reminding Bobby of a rattler coiled and ready to strike. He tread carefully. "I need to talk to you and your daddy first, before you go rushing up them stairs." When the younger Winchester opened his mouth to protest Bobby held up his hand and added. "Sam's okay. I promise, Dean. It can wait five minutes while I bring you guys up to snuff."

"Fine," Dean bit out, obviously unhappy with this. "Five minutes."

"Dean," John's growled warning was lost on his young pup as Dean met his gaze steadily. For his brother, Dean would face down the devil itself.

"Jesus," Bobby grumbled. "Just git inside, will ya?" Without waiting for an answer, the older man pushed past Dean and went inside. He led the way into the kitchen and poured two black coffees for them, a shot of whiskey and put them down on the table. It'd been a long night. The younger men acknowledged the drinks with nods but didn't sit down or touch them and Bobby didn't expect anything less knowing how anxious they'd be. "Like I told you, John, Sam was attacked by a shifter."

"Sonnavabitch," John muttered, although he already knew that part.

Bobby agreed with the sentiment then with an apologetic sigh, he looked at Dean and dropped the bombshell. "It was wearing Dean's skin."

------

Dean felt sick. All the blood drained for him face and then quickly rushed back in as rage overtook nausea. "It looked… like _me_?" The muscle in his jaw was so tight, it hurt. Bobby nodded, his face looking ten years older. Beside him his father growled.

"How bad?" the young hunter had to know. "How bad did it hurt him?" _Please don't let it be bad, please don't let it be bad._

"Mostly cosmetic," Bobby offered. "He's been beaten but nothing broken, no internal injuries. But-"

The twenty-year old swallowed hard. "But?"

"But," Bobby wasn't looking at Dean anymore, "the thing played with him… He's all cut up. Nothing life threatening… just painful and -"

Dean wasn't sure he could hear any more and only vaguely noticed his father standing beside him, his mind horrified by the image of himself hurting his brother. Not himself just something looking like him. _Oh God, Sammy._

"-and then it just let him go. Dropped him on the side of the road about two miles from here and took off."

"Damnit," his father slammed his fist against the wall, "God-damnit!"

"Dad?"

"Son. Of. A. BITCH!"

Bobby grabbed John's arm, yanking him away from the wall. "Keep yer voice down," he growled. "You want to freak your boy out anymore then he already is? The kid can't hardly rest as it is!"

Dean was tired of listening. He needed to see his brother and see him now. Without waiting for permission, he pushed past the older men and took the stairs two at a time, and Bobby must have valued his life because this time he didn't try to stop him.

------

"It's baiting me," John stated as he watched his son clunk up the stairs. "Bastard knew Sammy was mine and went after him."

Bobby nodded, figuring pretty much the same thing. "Smart, that's for sure. Using _Dean_ like that? It wouldn't have to kill Sam to hurt both your boys…" he paused, then added, "or you."

"Shit," John scrubbed a hand across his face, then slumped down in a chair by the table. Bobby nudged the mug towards him and waited a beat until the man finally took a drink. His friend _looked_ like shit.

"What happened on your hunt, John?" Bobby pressed, sitting down across from the other man and dumping the shot of whiskey in John's mug when the hunter put it back down. A grateful look flashed across the man's face and he savored the next mouthful more.

"I don't know, Bobby," that was a huge admission from the hunter. He leaned forward so his elbow rested on the table and raked a hand through his hair. Bobby knew the basics, John had gotten information about a particularly brutal shifter nearby and had asked him if he wanted to back him up but Bobby had turned him down, a prior commitment coming in the way. "It was screwed from the start. The intel was good… or so I thought but we just couldn't nail it down. Damn thing even had us crawling through sewers and scoping out abandoned warehouses but all for nothing more than an old skin."

"Sounds like it had you chasing your tails while it went on a little hunt of its own." Bobby surmised, reaching behind for the whiskey bottle.

"I don't get it though… How'd it know about Sammy? And why all the subterfuge? Why didn't it just kill him outright? It's almost like -" An odd look filtered across John's face.

_He knows_, thought Bobby, _he knows._

"Oh… shit," the words were a low whisper dragged out over a breath. John lifted his head and bloodshot eyes burned through the older hunter's. "Pay back. The damn thing is out for revenge!"

"Huh?"

"Last year I hunted a shifter outside Seattle… it ended in hand to hand and the damn thing swore, not swore, _promised,_ that this wasn't over, that it's _brother_, can you imagine? A family of shifters?" he shook his head and then continued, "That its brother would make sure I paid. That I'd hurt… _damnit_," John was on his feet in an instant, heading towards the stairs. "This isn't over yet, Bobby," he warned, "not by a long shot." He turned briefly, his face dark, "It's coming." Then bounded up the steps.

Bobby felt a shiver down his back. _It's coming? Just swell._ Shoving to his feet, the aging hunter cursed his aching knees and hurried towards his weapons stash to get the silver. Hunting he didn't mind, being hunted? Definitely not cool.

------

Dean stood in the doorway of the small bedroom and watched his brother. Sam looked like hell and new anger bubbled in the older hunter's chest as he got his first look at the damage. Bobby was right, it was pretty much cosmetic - the kid looked awful – but that didn't actually make it any better. Sam had still been hurt. As Dean quietly drew closer, not wanting to wake his sleeping sibling, he didn't think he'd ever seen Sam so beaten up before.

"Oh, kid," he whispered as he peered down at the badly swollen and bruised face, and winced. His brother's vision was going to be screwed until some of the swelling went down, that was for sure. Dean's own eyesight dimmed with fury as he saw what Bobby meant about the gashes and wondered how much more his brother's clothing hid. "Shit, bro," he murmured in sympathy, his hand reaching out to lightly finger a particularly spectacular bruise. Dean started to smile when he saw his brother's eyes open then startled when Sam's eyes widened in fear. The kid yelped and lurched away from Dean, jerking with a whimper when he hit the headboard.

"Whoa, easy!" Cursing himself for not expecting something like this, Dean's hands flew up in supplication as he tried to calm his distressed brother. "Easy, Sammy, it's me… Dean. The _real_ Dean!" But the kid just scrambled to the side of the bed, his long legs buckling when he tried to stand. Worried that his brother was going to hurt himself and gritting his teeth in frustration, Dean stepped back giving Sam clear access to the door. His hands clenched and unclenched in helplessness as he watched his brother's gaze dart from him to the hallway and then back to him again. His hatred of the shifter escalated to a new level. It did this to them.

Dean's move seemed to confuse Sam and though the need to bolt was strong enough that even Dean felt it, the kid didn't run. Instead he cocked his head and just stared at the older hunter. Dean held his breath, not sure exactly what Sam was seeing. _C'mon, Sammy, this is me… you know __me__._

"Dean?"

The word was hesitant and a bit slurred but to Dean his brother had never sounded better and he slowly nodded his head, letting Sam determine how this played out. "Yeah, Bitch, just me."

Sam actually sagged with relief, his white-knuckled grip on the mattress the only thing keeping him off the floor. "'bout time," his brother managed before managing a very shaky smile. "Missed you… _jerk._"

Dean cautiously approached, noting with relief that Sam didn't shy away when he crouched next to him, his worried gaze drinking in the slightly drugged glint in the teen's eyes. "I can see that." He reached out and carefully helped his brother back up, pausing when Sam winced. "Sammy?"

"Sorry," his brother gasped, slowly settling back down on the bed, "shoulders… sore."

"Dislocated?" It didn't look out of place.

"Not anymore," Sam admitted wearily.

Dean pulled the blankets up, frowning when his brother shivered, then sat down on the edge of the bed, relieved when the kid wrapped chilled fingers around his wrist and held on as if afraid Dean would just disappear. The older hunter put his other hand over Sam's and squeezed back lightly. _Not going anywhere, bro._ Sam's lips quirked as if he heard the thought then closed his eyes and slowly relaxed.

"Bastard put it back… then pulled it out again… then put it back, couple of times …" Sam mumbled, then snorted bitterly, "Liked to hear the pop, or me scream… can't remember which..."

Dean stiffened. He felt sick, bile rising in the back of his throat. "Probably both," he whispered and swallowed it back.

"Probably," Sam was almost asleep now so Dean didn't comment, just continued to sit there watching his brother as the younger Winchester shifted restlessly; it'd be hard to find a comfortable position even with the drugs in his system Dean had no doubt Bobby had already given.

The young man recognized the sound of his father's boots on the stairs moments before the man was standing in the doorway. John waited until he was sure Dean knew it was him before coming into the room not wanting to get a bullet in the gut as he knew his son would be wired to kill right now. There was just something about standing guard over his injured brother that tossed the other brother a few shades past lethal.

"How is he?" John asked, keeping his voice to a gruff whisper as his brown eyes took in the damage, darkening almost to demon blackness in anger.

Anyone else would have been terrified, Dean just sighed and admitted. "Freaked out." He gave his father a dejected look. "Don't think I'm going to be on his favorites list for a while… Kid just about jumped out of his _skin_," his face twisted liked he'd bitten into something sour at the unintentional pun, "when he woke up and saw me by the bed."

John moved to the side of the bed, standing next to Dean and looked down at his younger son. Dean watched a myriad of emotions flicker across his father's face until the man completely shut down, slamming a hardness across his features that would make the darkness shiver.

"He knows it wasn't you, Dean," he stated then tilting his head to the side, John leaned over Sam and gently brushed back some of the hair that had curled around the side of the boy's neck. Dean expected his brother to bolt awake again but the kid must have, on some level, realized who it was because he didn't move at his father's touch. Watching the man carefully, Dean felt a chill prickle down the back raising goosebumps across his flesh as John's eyes narrowed. He gently probed an odd shaped mark on the side of Sam's neck. Hidden by the hair, Bobby wouldn't have seen it, no one would have, unless they knew where to look and apparently Dean's father knew exactly where to look.

This did not bode well.

"Dad?" Dean didn't even try to keep the concern out of his voice.

"Damn," John muttered quietly. He straightened slowly then rubbed a shaky hand across his face. "Damn, damn, damn."

Dean stood, previous concern turning to outright fear. "Dad," he repeated, "What is it?"

"You remember that shifter I hunted when we were in Seattle last year?" John didn't have to wait for Dean to confirm, he knew his son would remember. Dean pretty much inhaled all the older man's hunts. "Well it would seem that hunt isn't over yet."

"Wait," Dean stared at his father, "I thought you got it…"

"I did," John growled, "but before I did, damn thing told me it had a brother-"

"Brother?" the younger man interrupted, he didn't think these things had families.

"Yes, a _brother_, and apparently that brother is back looking for its pound of flesh."

"No," Dean shook his head, "Dad, that's impossible."

"Impossible or not, son, this attack on Sammy is related to that hunt."

"How-"

John cut him off, "That mark on Sam's neck is the same as the ones the Seattle shifter left on its victims as a calling card."

Dean turned back towards his brother so quickly he almost gave himself whiplash. Risking startling Sam, he carefully leaned over and took a closer look for himself, all the blood draining from his face when he recognized exactly what _it_ was.

A bite.

The bastard had _bitten_ Sam.

"Bastard bit them. Marked them." John's growl echoed Dean's thoughts as he stalked towards the window and looked outside. "Then enjoyed playing a sick game of cat and mouse with them until finally, days later, it'd finally make the kill."

Dean's eyes widened, horrified. "It let him go."

John turned back to him, "because its not done yet."

"It can't have him," the younger man vowed, his heart pounding at the idea of that thing coming after his brother again. "It can't."

"And it won't," his father vowed, his voice cold and deadly, "Stay with your brother, Dean, keep your guard up." He started towards the door. "Keep your gun close, any doubts? Shoot and we'll deal with the consequences later. Got it?"

The younger man nodded, not needing to be told twice, and once again wow'd by the amount of trust his father had him in. And then John was gone, clumping down the stairs to get silver.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

_For TraSan - Happy New Year! Thanks for all the comments, I am happy you are enjoying the story - and, again, this chapter is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine, not the wonderful Red's. She's a busy person this time of year and I'm an impatient git :P Enjoy! One chapter left after this one._

_Disclaimer: If you think I own them, then I have a bridge you might be interested in._

**Bye Baby Buntin'**

**Chapter 3**

_"You know, little brother-"_

_"I'm not your brother!" Sam spat out, his eyes dark green, a mixture of fury and fear._

_Not-Dean smiled at him as it slowly moved behind the teen, taunting him as Sam continued to struggle against the restraints, but the ropes that bound him to a chair in the middle of the motel room were too tight, the chair too strong. "But I could be…" suddenly his hands were around the boy's neck vice-like and bruising, forcing his head down to the side of his shoulder._

_"No!" Sam started to scream but a large hand clamped painfully over his mouth as the shifter leaned in close to his neck and –_

Sam woke up screaming, in a flurry of long limbs and twisted blankets. One hand flew to his neck as the other was flung out defensively. Someone loomed over him –

_Not-Dean!_

And he was back on his feet, the world a sickening blur as he yelled for Bobby and struck out. The shifter was not going to get him this time.

"BOBBY!" he hollered again and heard the sound of heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs.

The shifter pulled back and as it did the panicked teen heard a softly sigh, "Oh Sammy…" and he stopped. Suddenly lucid memory slid back into place and even as Bobby burst into the room, followed by – Sam squinted hard – Dad? The teen remembered –

Not, Not-Dean… _Dean_.

"Dean?" the name came out as a whimper and his brother, the very person Sam had struck out against in fear and confusion, was right there, a suddenly comforting face close enough to his own that he could finally see him. "Dean."

"Yeah, bro," his brother's voice held such concern and sadness that Sam ached to touch him.

"Dean," he tried again, this time reaching out and tentatively wrapping trembling fingers around the older man's bicep, he felt the solid muscle beneath the cotton of a thin shirt, "I-" he wanted, no, _needed_ Dean to know, "I'm not afraid of _you_…" he felt the strength beneath his fingers twitch. "Okay?" It was important to Sam that his brother understand that he was _not _afraid of Dean. Of something that looked liked Dean, but not _Dean_.

His brother's free hand covered his fingers and squeezed lightly, "It's okay, Sammy. It doesn't matter." The words offered absolution but Sam didn't want his brother to tell him that it was okay if Sam was afraid of Dean because it wasn't and would never be.

"No," the younger Winchester denied, "it's not okay, and it _does_ matter." _To me._

"Sammy?" their father's deep voice startled Sam, he'd forgotten that the other men were there. He was probably wondering what had his son screaming out like that when Dean was right there.

"I – uh," he was embarrassed to admit it, "sorta freaked out. Sorry."

"My fault," Dean instantly cut in, ready to shoulder the weakness, "I wasn't thinking."

Exhausted as the adrenaline rush ebbed, Sam carefully sat on the edge of the bed. He was tired of being tired and really didn't want to lie back down, even if his body was definitely leaning in that direction. His family must have noticed as the next thing he realized, his father was crouched down in front of him. "Sammy?" the gentleness in the man's voice prickled unease in the pit of the teen's stomach. John Winchester didn't 'gentle' unless things were seriously messed up. "I know you're tired, son, but I need to know what happened. Everything."

Images and emotions slammed into Sam leaving him breathless –

_Someone at the door._

_Not being able to breathe._

_Waking to cruelty wearing his brother's face as a mask._

_A children's nursery rhyme._

_The first cut._

_Blood._

_Another cut._

_More blood._

_And another_

_And another_

_And –_

"Sam!" his father was holding his arms and shook him, "Breathe!" Sam gasped in a lung full trying to pull away. He was panting, hard. "Breathe, god-damnit, breathe!" Someone was on the bed behind him now and Sam felt another pair of arms pull him away from his father's bruising grip until he was leaned back against a solid chest.

Dean.

"Hey, hey," his brother's voice was against the side of his face as he tipped Sam back until the back of Sam's head rested against his shoulder, "you gotta calm down, Sammy. C'mon. Calm down. If you pass out, dude -"

The threat was never finished as Sam sucked in air liked a beached fish and started to cough violently. Since when did air have bones? he wondered, his geeky mind putting a name to all this – a panic attack. Sam was having a panic attack.

No, Sam shook his head in denial, his father and brother's voices a rushing sound around him. Only whimps and wusses have panic attacks. Not Winchesters. Not –

Then Dean was pounding on his back – _ow, Dean, not so hard_ – and Sam slumped forward, leaning over his brother's arm like a colicky baby on a bad night. He closed his eyes exhausted, too much, too soon, and slowly inhaled. Then exhaled. Then inhaled again.

"M-maybe…" he breathed out each word dragged carefully across dry lips, "not… everything…?"

Instead of an answer, the worn out teen felt his father's hand skim the side of his face, in apology. He leaned into the touch, the roughness of the calloused skin, emotional balm, and took the answer for what it was. His father would take what Sam could give, and that would be enough for now.

------

John Winchester paced in the kitchen. His son's sketchy account of his captivity had unsettled the man in a different way than witnessing the panic attack earlier had. His boys were smart, strong and durable; in fact in all their young lives he'd never seen either of them react like Sam had, barely two hours ago when John asked him what happened. This shifter had done a real number on the kid and that burned a deeper need, hot and scalding, through him to find the creature, knowing his son would find no peace until it was dead.

He hated himself for having pushed the sixteen year old when it was obvious Sam wasn't really up to it, but with a shifter stalking them John didn't have time to wait. However, in deference to the obvious toll that telling them was taking on his son, he hadn't asked for many details. If the hunter was being honest with himself, he'd admit he didn't want to know, afraid that any more hatred would be a deadly distraction. It was bad enough that Sam had only been targeted because he was John's son, without knowing exactly how sick and twisted the boy's punishment had been.

From what Sam told them, the shifter had seemingly just decided it'd had enough and dumped the battered young hunter off along side the road. The teen was sure it hadn't been concerned about whether or not he survived but John wasn't as certain… The mere fact that the shifter had picked a location two hours from the motel but still within walking distance of Bobby's spoke volumes that it wanted Sam found, and found alive.

"Of course," John muttered to no one as Dean was stationed in Sam's room and Bobby was in the living room on the phone. "It knew that injuring Sammy would nail me down… Damn thing's too smart for it's own good. It knew I'd come, and that I'd stay." Lethal in a second when Bobby showed up in the doorway, John paused a moment before lowering his weapon. His old friend wouldn't take it personally. "You find out anything?"

Bobby sighed. He wasn't wearing his happy face. "Nothing," he admitted, as he tipped his hat up off his forehead and scratched at head. "Can't help but think you're right though. This is a trap."

"Knowing that doesn't actually help," the other man grunted. "What's it waiting for?"

"Dunno," Bobby shrugged.

John scrubbed a hand across his face and then a sickening thought made him blanch. "How do we know for sure that's Sammy up there?"

Bobby's own face paled but then he shook his head. "If the boy wasn't so beat up, maybe… but c'mon, John, no shape shifter is going to do that to itself. Not even to get back at you. Not when it can mess around with the real thing."

"Good point," the younger man conceded, "I was just hoping we could get this done."

"Do you think you could kill it, if that _was_ the bastard up there?" Bobby's eyes pierced through John. "It'd be looking just like Sam… or it could still be wearing Dean."

"I think… I'll have the boys move down here," he spoke gruffly, not answering his friend's question, and moved towards the stairs. "Less chance of it getting the drop on us."

"John-" Bobby's voice stopped him but he didn't turn back to his friend.

"I know, okay. I know." And he did, he didn't need the other man to remind him that before this was over he might have to kill something that looked like one of his boys. "And if it comes down to it…" his face hardened, "yes. I can."

-----

Dean stood at the window and stared out. It was daylight again. Sometime between Bobby calling and their hurried rush back, time had lost its importance and he wasn't even sure what day it was anymore. His stomach told him it was probably around meal-time though, and since it wasn't dark Dean was figuring it was early afternoon.

The sun hung low in the cloudless blue sky brightening the crisp white snow that had fallen and buried much of the scrap yard under a heavy blanket. Deceptively serene, it offered false comfort as his instincts tingled – there was a shifter out there.

Dean's breath fogged up the glass. It was cold out there too.

Tapping the silver loaded handgun he was holding against the side of his leg, Dean glanced back at his brother. Sam was sleeping with a silver bladed knife. Dean had been expecting his brother to react when their father had offered him the knife, knowing that the shifter had used one to do the majority of tormenting. But Sam didn't. He just eyed the weapon warily – although to be honest, Dean wasn't exactly sure what the kid was seeing – then reached out a trembling hand, took the knife and pulled it back under the blankets with him leaving Dean to worry that he'd somehow manage to disembowel himself with the next nightmare.

So far so good though.

Moving away from the window, Dean paced restlessly at the foot of his brother's bed. The room was small but he was afraid that if he spent any more time sitting around on his ass, he'd need to have it re-inflated, and seeing that the closest thing to a chick within a ten mile radius was Sammy, Dean would rather pace. For both their sakes.

Thinking about the kid made him frown. His brother tried to assure him that it wasn't Dean he was afraid of, but it was hard to reconcile those words to the immediate reactions Sam had had each time he woke up. And while Dean understood, it still hurt, on a very visceral level. Sam's unwavering trust and belief in Dean had always been one of the things the young man prided himself on. He'd tried very hard to keep his brother safe and to always be there when Sam needed him, so to see even a hint of doubt or fear in those soulful hazel depths, cut him to the quick. It felt like a betrayal by both sides.

A soft sigh had him next to his brother in an instant, unable to control his own immediate reactions either.

"Sammy?" he kept his voice low, "You okay?"

This time the sliver of brightness in the badly swollen face didn't widen in fear and Dean felt some of the tension bleed out of his body.

"Dean?" his brother's voice was sleep slurred.

"Yeah, bro, you need something?"

"A drink?" the teen rasped.

Dean reached for the glass on the nightstand and then silently cursed, forgetting Sam had drained it the last time he'd been awake. He should have gotten a refill when his father was here earlier. Picking up the glass, he glanced between his brother and the closed door leading out into the hallway. The bathroom was only seconds away but right now even that seemed to be too far.

Sam squinted at him. "What's wrong?"

"The glass is empty," Dean stated, he made a move towards the door, then hesitated, "I'll call Dad to get some more."

"Bathroom water is okay," the teen moved under the covers, wincing slightly.

"Sam-"

"I'm okay," the kid assured him, "I got my knife," he held it up with a twisted smirk, "and you'll be quick."

Dean was still hesitant.

"Dean, please, I'm really thirsty.

"I swear, Sam," the older brother growled, "If you get into any trouble-"

Sam waved him off with a weak flick of his hand. "I know. I know. You'll kick my ass."

"Damn straight," he threatened, although there was no heat in the words and as he hurried towards the bathroom, he couldn't help but grin. If Sam could say the words then maybe things were getting better –

And then something slammed into the back of his head and Dean was out before he even hit the floor.

------

Sam was almost asleep by the time Dean came back. "What took you so long?" he asked as his brother handed him the glass. "I was just about ready to come looking for ya." The water was nice and cold against his parched throat.

"You know me," his brother smirked as he took the now half-empty glass back and put it on the nightstand. "Can't pass a mirror without paying homage."

"Homage?" Sam mumbled as he settled back down, his eyes drifting shut. Were they still drugging him? "I'm impressed."

"You should be," he heard his brother move close again and tried to repress a shiver. "I'm a pretty impressive guy…"

The teen slowly opened his eyes. Something in Dean's tone wasn't right… and in a flush of panic the teen knew. This wasn't his brother –

The shifter was back.

Sam moved fast but the shifter moved faster, slamming him back down against the bed and shoving a pillow over his face. He tried to yell as his fingers grazed the blade of the knife but not-Dean straddled his body, its weight forcing the air out of Sam's lungs as it knees pinned down the young hunter's arms. Sam still clutched the knife as he thrashed against the suffocating weight. _Dean!_

The pillow was pressed harder. Dizziness and thickness robbed his struggle and as awareness finally dimmed and the knife slipped from his fading grasp, Sam had one fleeting thought – was Dean even still alive?

------

The shifter waited until the youngster was unconscious before it removed the pillow. "Don't want you dead…" it whispered then leaned over and licked the side of Sam's face. "_Yet_."

The sound of someone coming up the stairs had it moving quickly. "Showtime," it hissed, rearranging Sam so it looked like the kid was asleep. Then standing in the middle of the room, it waited.

------

"Dean?" John knocked lightly on the bedroom door before opening it. Although it was a coded knock, Dean was still standing in the middle of the room pointing a gun at him when the older man stepped into the room. "We need to move your brother downstairs. I don't like having you boys on a different floor. Not while that sonnovabitch is still out there."

Dean didn't lower the gun.

John waited another heartbeat. "Dean?" he pressed, suddenly uneasy as he searched his older son's face and then his own features deadened, "You." His fingers tightened on the gun he was holding at his side but he didn't dare move it yet.

A feral smile twisted the thing's face as it slowly lifted a finger to its lips and whispered, "Shhhh, we don't want to wake Sammy, now do we?"

"Where's Dean?" John demanded, half hoping Sam would rouse and offer him the distraction he needed to take this thing out.

"He's… around…" not-Dean offered.

"If you hurt him-"

"You'll what?" the shifter asked, seemingly truly curious.

It unnerved John to see something that looked like Dean behaving so _un-_Dean as he caught a small glimpse of what Sam must have gone through. "I'll send you to hell in a gift bag."

"Ooh," not-Dean seemed amused, "wow. That is some threat. Not sure what it actually means-" He stepped back towards Sam's bed.

"Don't move." John's gun was now up. His stomach churned as he pointed it at his 'son'.

"Oh, come off," the creature pouted, "you're no fun."

"Fun?" the hunter was furious. "You call this fun?"

"This?" the shifter looked incredulous. "No, this isn't fun. Now little Sammy…" it licked its lips, his mouth twisted into something feral. "Sammy's fun…. Lots and lots of fun."

"You sick sonnovabitch," rage coursed through John's body. He had a shot. He wanted to take the shot but still he hesitated. Maybe he was wrong about being able to do this, maybe Bobby was right, maybe –

Then Sam was yelling, "Dad!"

And John took the shot.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

For Trasan and - _neener, neener, neener,_ I finished first! :P And no it wasn't a competition :) Merry belated Christmas. Special thank you to Red, an awesome beta and wonderful friend, and thank you to every one who has commented. Your words have been very warming. Sorry for the delay. January was not very nice to me.

**Bye Baby Buntin'**

**Chapter 4**

_Don't move…._

The hard edge of his father's voice filtered through the darkness as Sam regained consciousness, his body tense, his memory scattered.

_Oh, come off, you're no fun…_

Dean? Sam frowned, something wasn't right.

_Fun? You call this fun?_

Dad?

_This? No, this isn't fun. Now little Sammy… Sammy's fun… Lots and lots of fun…_

Panic bashed lucidity through Sam. Not-Dean. It was not-Dean!

_You sick sonnovabitch…_

A distraction. His father needed a distraction.

Fumbling fingers found the knife even as Sam sucked air into his lungs, yelled, "Dad!" and lunged forward, throwing the blankets off his trembling body.

A shot fired –

Dean dropped.

"_No!_" The word ripped through the room as Sam rapidly blinked through his blurry vision and saw his brother's body drop. "Not Dean!" he frantically gasped, "it's not Dean!" And then his father was there, blocking the shifter and crouching down eye level to Sam.

Strong hands, burning hot, grasped his shoulders and gave him a shake. "Sam?" the older man barked, "Are you okay?"

The sound of feet pounding up the stairs had John spinning to his feet, the gun up and pointed as Bobby burst into the room, hat askew, arms loaded with a shotgun.

"Dean," Sam suddenly remembered, his gaze returned to the fuzzy blob of the shifter's body. His father's shot had been true, the creature was dead. "Where's Dean?"

"Please God, tell me that's not him." The words were blurted out before Bobby thought better.

Sam grabbed his father, his words running together in urgency, "The bathroom! He went to the bathroom!"

Bobby was gone in a blur of color and loudness, John hesitating only long enough for Sam to let him go.

"Stay here," John barked as he thundered from the room but Sam was already half way to his feet.

"Dad," he pleaded, worry for Dean pushing him forwards, but then he froze, the shifter's body folded in front of him.

_"Time to go," the creature hissed, hefting Sam up in a bridal carry. The young hunter was too beaten to fight and only whimpered as he was dropped into the trunk of a car. Not the Impala, he vaguely registered and was unconscious before the trunk slammed shut. _

_Coldness revived him. He was lying in the snow on the side of a road. Slowly, arduously, Sam got to his feet-_

"Dean!" His father's alarmed shout startled Sam out of his flashback; fear for his brother overrode fear for himself and the teen tore away from the body and moved into the hallway. "God-damnit, Bobby, don't let go!"

Limping quickly into the doorway of the bathroom, Sam's stomach dropped. He couldn't see exactly what was going on because his father and Bobby were blocking him but the window was open and Sam just knew that Dean was somehow out side that window. And then he saw Bobby pull back, his hands were wrapped around a strong rope. Sam felt all the blood drain out of his face, oh, God, the shifter had hung Dean.

"No, no," he started to whisper as his father leaned further out the window. He wanted to make himself move, to make himself help Bobby hold that rope but Sam couldn't as he grabbed at the doorframe to steady himself. "No, no, no."

---

John cursed under his breath when he heard Sam behind them. Damnit, he'd hoped the kid would have stayed in the bedroom. He had enough to deal with without Sam freaking out being one of them. Dean was outside. Apparently the shifter had thought it funny to string the young man up by his wrists and hang him outside the house in the dead of winter. The shut window and a large knot on the part of the rope hanging on the inside of the bathroom was the only thing keeping Dean from falling two stories to the frigid earth. John had no idea yet how badly his son was hurt but he knew the twenty-year-old was alive and cold; that would have to be enough until they could get him back inside.

"Pull," he grunted to Bobby as he leaned out as far as he could to try and reach Dean's outstretched hands, noticing now that his son wasn't wearing a shirt. "Shit," he cursed, the shifter had been wearing Dean's clothes so Dean was hanging in the cold in just a pair of boxers and a pair of socks. "Bobby!"

Slowly, inch-by-inch, Dean was hoisted up and John was finally able to grab his hands, alarmed by how cold they were and how unresponsive Dean was. "Hold on, kiddo," he murmured as he tightened his grip and pulled. "Just a bit more…" Behind them a litany of 'no's' tore his heart but he didn't have time to reassure Sam yet. They had to get Dean inside first.

John tried to block out the memory of shooting the shifter, of putting a bullet hole in something wearing Dean's face and didn't doubt he'd be having nightmares about this for a very long time. Behind him, Bobby barked at Sam to get blankets and the kid must have listened because when John carefully pulled an unconscious Dean into the warmth of the bathroom, a heavy grey blanket was quickly wrapped around the young man.

"Dean?" Sam's broken whisper made him look up even as he pressed eager fingers against the milk white throat. The steady thrumming of a pulse settled relief over John. It was a bit slower then he'd like but Dean was alive and that was all that mattered.

"He'll be fine," he spared for the white-faced teen before turning back to the younger man. A garish bump on the side of Dean's head had him gently checking for dilated pupils but everything look fine as Dean started to violently shiver.

"We need to git'em warmed up," Bobby offered. John blinked at him dumbly and then gave himself a little shake. Of course they did.

"Put him in my bed," Sam's voice was shaking, "it's warm."

Nodding, and with Bobby's help, John carefully hefted Dean up and they followed quickly after Sam. "Sam," he grunted when the teen faltered, the shifter's Dean-like body suddenly an obstacle and while John understood, oh God did he understand, they didn't have time, not with Dean shaking so hard John was afraid he and Bobby were going to drop him. But John's voice did the trick and with a barely perceptible nod, Sam moved past the body, climbed into his still warm bed and held out his arms.

"Dad?" John started to brush him off, Sam was in no shape, but then relented when pleading hazel eyes, bright with too much emotion, begged for his brother, _"Please." _Swallowing back the lump that rose in his throat, the man carefully placed Dean in the bed and helped Sam cocoon himself and all the blankets around the shivering hunter. "S'okay, Dean," Sam whispered as he snuggled tightly, grimacing only slightly at the discomfort, "I got'cha."

"John." Bobby's quiet voice drew John's attention from his boys. The man was crouched down next to the shifter. He cast a significant look at the younger Winchesters, _let's get this outta here_, and John agreed. He knew there were more things he needed to do, properly checking Dean out being a priority, but he also knew his older boy would kick his ass if John left Dean's little brother in the room with a shifter – even a dead shifter – any longer than necessary. And since Dean wasn't in any shape to make Sam feel better right now, John would.

"Sammy?" He moved between his sons and the creature. "We're going to take this outside," he paused and added, "keep an eye on your brother."

Sam nodded, then gave a small smile, "You know I will," and then turned his full attention back to his brother.

John watched them for a few more long seconds, his gaze lingering on Dean's pale face, forcing his suddenly pounding heart to slow down. It hadn't been Dean he'd shot, he knew that, just as Sam knew it wasn't Dean who had hurt him, but by God, it really didn't make it any easier. But, hopefully, with enough matches and a lighter now, and a bottle of Bobby's whiskey later, he might be able to put that memory in a place where it didn't hurt so much.

And then with another blink, he sighed heavily, reached a hand out to give Sam's slim shoulder a gentle squeeze and then grabbed the legs of the shifter. In those few moments, Bobby had gotten a towel from the bathroom and it now covered the creatures face and John had never been so grateful.

"C'mon, John," the other hunter cajoled, "let's get this done so we can get on to more important things."

The oldest Winchester slewed one final glance at his sons and then he and Bobby took the shifter out of the room.

------

Dean woke slowly. He was warm and comfortable, his body resting against something solid but soft. A quiet thumping against his cheek made him smile. He'd know that heartbeat anywhere. It was Sammy. And then memory crashed over him and he jerked away, sitting up, then promptly doubling over with a groan and throwing up.

"Dean!" His brother's voice split his head open, not helped when Sam suddenly yelled, "DAD!"

"S'mmy," The world spun sickeningly around him as Sam pulled him back and away from the mess, "Y'kay?" The irony of the question was completely lost on Dean.

"Me?" Sam snorted softly, as the sound of someone on the stairs made Dean groan again, "I'm not the one blowing chunks in bed."

"Boys?" John's voice as he loudly burst into the room sent Dean into another round of puking, leaving him weak and miserable when he could finally breath again.

"Dad?" Sam's voice was worried and Dean wanted to tell his little brother that everything would be okay once Dean's head stopped exploding, but strong hands manhandled him off the bed and into the bathroom, _oh crap, not the bathroom again_, before he could get anything out.

He started to shake from the cold and from the effort of throwing up when something warm was wrapped around his shoulders and he was sat down on the closed lid of the toilet. Thankfully the light was kept off and that was the only thing that made Dean brave enough to open his eyes. "S'm," he whispered into the terrified face only inches from his, "M'kay."

"Yeah, Dean." A glass of water was held to his parched lips and Dean drank slowly, afraid that too much movement would have him hurling again as he vaguely wondered where his father had gone since he and Sam seemed to be the only ones in the bathroom now. "You get any more okay and we're taking you to the hospital."

Dean balked. "Not." And was rewarded with a slight huff but Sam didn't press the issue, probably realizing that arguing with his obviously concussed older brother was probably not going to be his smartest move. A sudden violent shiver racked his frame and he groaned at the effort of keeping from throwing up again. It was only then that he realized he wasn't wearing clothes. Just boxers, socks and a blanket.

Sam must have seen the question because, God bless him, the kid answered without Dean having to ask. "Shifter took your clothes."

"Bastard," Dean managed back as he slowly leaned forward, the effort of sitting up suddenly becoming too much. His forehead came to rest against his brother's shoulder as Sam moved in closer. Dean wanted to protest, he really did, after all he was the bigger brother and Sam was hurt worse, but there was just something very comfortable about this right now and until something bigger and badder than a concussion came along, Dean was content to let Sam be the stronger one for a bit. But it didn't stop him from stiffening and readying himself to protect his brother when someone stopped in the doorway. It was just his father though so Dean let himself relax again.

"How is he?"

Dean opened his mouth to answer for himself but Sam beat him to the punch, showoff. "Better… I think." _Oh, yeah, Sammy, that sounds convincing._

"Good." Their father sounded odd but the twenty-year-old wasn't up for speculation beyond figuring that whatever had gone down tonight hadn't been pleasant. "We stripped the bed but the room still stinks."

Dean grimaced. _I bet._

"So Bobby put an extra cot in my room. I'll sleep on that. You, boys, can have the bed."

Dean felt Sam nod even as his eyes slipped shut, the effort of staying awake becoming too much. There was some more jostling, some mild mumbling from him that was supposed to be a protest and then he was being gently laid down on the new bed. He tensed until he felt a warm body settle down behind him and then blankets were pulled up to his chin.

"Get some sleep," their father ordered, then silently slipped out the door.

Dean was almost asleep when a soft voice tickled the back of his neck. "Dean?"

"Hmmm…" was the best he could come up with.

"I'm sorry."

Dean opened his eyes. "For what?" His head was pounding and he wondered if he'd missed something. When Sam didn't answer, he pressed, forcing hard not to slur, "Sammy?"

"That you got hurt."

_Oh that_. Dean relaxed, a small smile played across his lips. He'd been worried for a moment but this was just Sam being Sammy. "Yeah, well," he sighed out, "I'm not exactly happy about what happened to you either."

A soft snuffle against his bare back as his brother pressed in closer made him close his eyes. He reached back and gave his brother a little pat. The kid could be such a girl.

"Dean?"

He tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice as all he wanted to do was go to sleep, "Yeah?" but he was tired.

Sam didn't answer, obviously having picked up on it anyways.

"Sam?" The slight trembling from the body tucked in behind him made Dean frown. "Sammy?"

"Shapeshifters _really_ suck."

Dean stifled a laugh at the absurdness of his brother's observation. Oh man, could he love the kid any more than he already did? "Well, if it makes you feel any better," he deadpanned, "they aren't exactly on my Christmas card list either."

There was a pause, _almost_ long enough for Dean to go to sleep this time when –

"Dean?"

Oh God, scratch his previous thought, if Sam didn't shut up right now and let him go to sleep, Dean was going to kill him… or pass out. It really was a tossup at this point which was going to happen first. But before he had to answer, his brother finished, "You don't have a Christmas card list."

"Sam." One word, spoken with so much tolerance and patience Dean was downright proud of himself.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

----

But six years later when Dean crouched down next to another dead shapeshifter wearing his skin, and glanced at his once again beaten younger brother, he couldn't have agreed more.

_Shapeshifters really did suck._

**The end**


End file.
